


The Madness of Sherlock Holmes

by lalunaticscribe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A Different Meeting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Partial Casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalunaticscribe/pseuds/lalunaticscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock Holmes.”</p><p>Neville had to stop right there, or risk setting fire to the rest of the invitations (You are cordially invited to-). “Oh.”</p><p>“Longbottom, I understand that your mind is doubtlessly focused on the management of the Potter-Weasley brood and keeping Malfoy, Potter and Weasley far, far away, but you realise whom I am discussing, right?”</p><p>“Technically, I think Scorpius is part of the brood, but Sherlock Holmes? Dolores hasn't recovered from his experiment. I do mean it in the sense that he attempted to feed it oil of vitriol!”</p><p>“The Umbridge Weed survived. I mean the part where even Firenze threatened to kick him and he reduced Professor Trelawney and Hagrid to tears. How on earth does he do that? Hagrid's gotten more insults over sixty years than Holmes can dish out, and Holmes didn't even have to mention anything!”<br/>______________</p><p>Sherlock Holmes arrived to his ten-year reunion at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft at Wizardry, where a man suddenly died. Before that, the new Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts had invited Dr John Watson to give a seminar of Muggle medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Madness of Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally done for my Secret Summer Exchange, and it took a while before I got around to posting.

It might not feature that often, but Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did hold regular reunions. The castle had not seen one since the second round of the rise of Voldemort, and the resultant decimation of the student population following the Battle of Hogwarts. Despite so, joyous occasions were joyous occasions, and were to be celebrated regardless of inclination. It was therefore with a stiff upper lip that Professor Neville Longbottom (Head of Hufflepuff House, subject Herbology) was stuck with the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts frantically issuing invitations.

“There's this thing called e-mail,” Deputy Headmistress Penelope Huxleigh (Deputy Headmistress, subject Transfiguration with supplement Muggle Studies) was saying. “You copy a message out, replicate it by a thousand or more without paper, and then send it and wait for the RSVPs to come. No paper records, no mess, no rush to get the owl flocks going-”

“And then we, who must handle the inevitable rush, must go about our business without paper records,” Neville retorted with the ease of long practice. “Penny, Penny, Professor McGonagall has been through this with you, be reasonable-”

“She's the one who's getting on in years up in the Highlands, it's precisely the fault of the oligarchy that the British wizarding community has-” Penny Huxleigh stopped her verbal diatribe of terms Neville ignored with the ease of long-term practice. “Dear God.”

“Penny?”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Neville had to stop right there, or risk setting fire to the rest of the invitations ( _You are cordially invited to-_ ). “Oh.”

Penny sighed. “Longbottom, I understand that your mind is doubtlessly focused on the management of the Potter-Weasley brood and keeping Malfoy, Potter and Weasley far, far away, but you realise whom I am discussing, right?”

“Technically, I think Scorpius is part of the brood, but Sherlock Holmes?” Neville sounded aghast.

Penny waved it off. “Even Firenze threatened to kick him and he reduced Professor Trelawney and Hagrid to tears. How on earth does he _do_ that? Hagrid's gotten more insults over sixty years than Holmes can dish out, and Holmes didn't even have to mention anything!”

“We still have to send it,” Neville commented.

“And initiate evasive manoeuvres,” Penny added as she bewitched the parchment to a particularly recalcitrant owl perched blearily by her desk. “Neville, keep an eye on him.”

“I'm on Potter-Weasley watch.”

“...damn.”

* * *

After rapidly eliminating Professor Flitwick ('You couldn't pay me to mitigate Holmes'), an entreaty to Professor Sinistra (No, thank you, Penny, I couldn't listen to another diatribe against my subject') and Madam Hooch ('No'. Penny hadn't asked the reason why), Penny was already running low on options when she came across the Headmaster.

“Professor Shacklebolt, I really need to tell you-”

“There you are, Penny. Penny, this is John Watson, he's the Muggle doctor you were reviewing for the hospital wing.”

Penny stopped, pausing only to sweep a stray lock of hair out of her face to consider the slightly shorter doctor in the oatmeal jumper. The cane in his hand made his disability clear; she'll have to make the trip short, then. “Dr Watson?”

The blond man seemed a bit stunned. “Erm, I'm sorry, I was informed-”

“No, no, you're in the right place,” Penny assured, giving a winning smile. “Well, I was actually hoping that you'll be able to give a course on Muggle first aid. Seeing as you have knowledge of our world and of the modern world, I'd really like you to drag my students kicking and screaming into the real world.”

John gave a smile. “Unruly bunch?”

“Students think they can get an easy O or E- I mean, that they can pass an elective class easily,” Penny assured. “It's... fine. Please, follow me.”

“Don't worry, Penny,” Professor Shacklebolt said as the pair were about to dive deeper into the castle. “The party's going to be fine. It will be all fine.”

* * *

“This is not all fine!”

Professor Penelope Huxleigh was sincerely giving credence to the thought of hexing the next person who talked. Standing over the bleeding dead body swathed in crimson, Penny had immediately conjured crime scene tape and chivvied many shocked wizards and witches away. “Don't touch the scene! I mean you, Poppy!”

“It might disturb the crime scene,” Dr Watson helpfully explained to an offended matron.

Penny turned to the rest. “We'll have to wait for the investigators-”

“Dull.”

_Just kill me now._

There was Sherlock Holmes, sweeping in a la Byronic hero, coat and scarf swirled around him as though caught up in a storm despite the lack of breeze. No one had been able to work out how he did it, and the one time Penny had attempted to glean its origins had received a cutting remark on her career choices and constant self-esteem problems leading to micro-management – and that was all she was willing to comment on the subject.

“Despite your opinion, Mr Holmes, the Auror corps do conduct investigations without the requirement of a consultant.”

“And despite your Muggle upbringing, Professor Huxleigh, you persist in the illusion that the Auror corps are less competent than the Yard when it is patently obvious that the situation is the complete opposite.” Riposte perfectly delivered, Holmes swept down, towards the bleeding body which John was knelt next to, although his gaze was devoted to the body more to the doctor.

“You're a Muggle doctor,” Holmes sounded surprised. “Here to teach a seminar.”

“Er, yes.” Watson blinked. “I- what? Are you an investigator? Why aren't you suited up?”

It was almost endearing, Penny reflected. Culture clashes that ended in bloodshed taking place before her eyes.

“Why isn’t he suited up?” Watson then turned to her.

In a rather impressive feat of facial control, she managed to hide a grin under an expression of abashment. “We don't have them.”

“I don't _need_ one.” Holmes griped.

“Yes, because lack of protective clothings is clearly a sound way to ensure the closing of the chain of evidence.”

“…”

“I'm sure it makes you look appropriately dramatic,” Dr Watson continued, giving a self-depreciating smile. “Either way, clear off and wait for the investigators to get here, would you?”

Holmes gave a harrumph, in the same style an offended horse might give. “By the time they get here the murder weapon would've been thrown away. Skiving Snackboxes.”

“Wait, what?” Penny blurted, to the titters of a fascinated crowd. “Those sweets from WWW?”

“Specifically, Nosebleed Nougat,” Holmes wrinkled his nose at the alliteration. “The victim was haemophiliac. I'm surprised no cases were reported sooner, considering the concentrations of pureblood scions in the area, but I suppose most purebloods would just skip class if they felt like it. Someone gave him Nosebleed Nougat, and kept the antidote away. So a haemophiliac, having ingested a sweet that causes copious amounts of nasal bleeding, and unable to heal himself could bleed out over... ten minutes?”

“More or less,” Watson wrinkled his nose. “You'd think someone would've noticed the nosebleed.”

“Crimson robes. Doubtless no one studied his face, or they didn't notice the man bleeding to death under their very noses,” Holmes sniffed.

“Poor Staunton,” Penny commented. “Conscientious man. Came with Armstrong, right? Where's the poor girl?”

“Leslie? Oh, she's in a bit of a shock, poor thing,” one of the witches tittered. The smell suggested to Penny that some former students had obviously stopped at the Three Broomsticks for a bender first.

Leslie Armstrong was a small, mousy woman who wore her hair tied back, stringently neat. Penny managed to locate the woman right around the time Holmes, with Watson still dogging his steps, managed to corner her. She was clutching one of the largest purses Penny had ever seen, holding it like a shield to ward off Holmes.

“You're a healer,” Holmes spoke, queer-coloured eyes studying the woman. “A Muggle-born.”

“H- Healer,” she answered, surprised. “I- I'm sorry. It's... oh, Godfrey...”

“Fiancé?”

“No, but Maddie... oh, she'll be so broken-hearted,” Leslie sniffed, and continued to dab at her eyes with a serviette. “She's only just got over her bronchitis antibiotics, and now this... they were going to be married. He asked me to be maid of honour...”

“I think you're the one who's more broken-hearted,” Holmes offered. “You loved him, didn't you?”

“I'm sorry, he's socially awkward,” Watson immediately intervened, softening the blow of Holmes's intellect.

“Are you a detective?” her voice was formidable and self-contained. “The Auror corps don't consult amateurs.”

Penny would have said that Holmes swelled with righteous anger, but then that would require admitting that his form changed in any fashion, and that was a lie. Although she wondered exactly why did a man that thin have an arse that wide.

“I wouldn't say that. I was right,” Holmes suggested as Leslie turned towards the clearly more sympathetic Watson. “You would be aiding and abetting a murderer to remove evidence, Doctor.”

“What?” Watson had, indeed, stopped and taken his hand back, turning to face Holmes.

“When I asked if you were a doctor, you looked surprised. I saw it. Hair tied back, nails kept clean, robes; clearly a medi-witch. But your conversation just now showed familiarity with Muggle society, to a degree nearly equal to Professor Huxleigh, perhaps more. Knowledge of bronchitis and antibiotics when the British magical community would swear up and down to chicken soup and tisanes? A Muggle-born witch, with doctor qualifications. Love-sickness?” Holmes considered, glancing at Watson meaningfully. “You cried when his death was announced, but the degree of puffiness indicates bouts of crying recently, even before his death, despite the make-up you've slathered on. Crying even before his death indicates a sort of previous knowledge, or recent heartbreak. Ergo, Impending nuptials which you have no part in.”

“Brilliant,” Dr Watson admitted, gazing towards Holmes. “Erm, sorry. I'll just... keep quiet.”

“No, it's... fine.”

Penny was wondering who had taught Sherlock Holmes restraint. How rare. Holmes was legendary for not practising any.

“Even after the Second Wizarding War, intermarriage of purebloods and Muggle-born aren't that common. Considering Staunton's background, he wouldn't have married a Muggle-born. But you, you're a Healer, _and_ a doctor. You knew about Nosebleed Nougat and the effects it could have on a haemophiliac. The fact that Staunton was haemophiliac, your medical training told you. Swelling joints, large bruising, pale skin, and your intimate acquaintance solved the rest. Easy enough to discreetly give him some nougat, then occupy his time until the bleeding turned copious enough that, perhaps, he would then look towards you, the _doctor_...” the word was pronounced in a caress, “...never realising that you were the one who masterminded his demise.”

“I- I don't know what you're talking about,” Leslie Armstrong stuttered, turning to a stone-faced John.

“I think you do,” Holmes nodded towards her giant purse. “Clever, using a common prank device to engineer a murder. But for such a plebeian motive; love. If you'll turn the bag out, Professor Huxleigh, you'll find the other end of the Nosebleed Nougat, the thing which might have saved him.”

Penny swallowed, about to intervene when Leslie Armstrong lashed out. The purse connected with his head, and Leslie triumphantly raised her wand. “ _Sectum_ -”

 _Bang_.

Penny stifled the shock. Leslie Armstrong collapsed, her face prettily vacant and dead, her head bleeding from where the bullet hole had dug in.

“Let me, I'm a doctor!” Dr Watson ran towards Leslie's fallen body and Holmes's sprawled form, and Penny reflected that his cane was left behind.

* * *

"Why have I got this blanket? Pomfrey keeps putting it on me.”

“It's for shock.”

“I'm not in shock.”

Penny could see the vein pulsing in Professor Shacklebolt's temple. “Well, it's for posterity, then. Either way, we don't know where your mysterious shooter went. We've got nothing to go on. A girl like that, she'd have enemies, the Aurors think.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Holmes took up that self-satisfied look, waiting until Shacklebolt grimly nodded. “The bullet they dug out from her skull came from a handgun. Right to the back of the head on a moving target, that's a crack shot we're looking for. Not just a marksman, though. He couldn't have hesitated before Armstrong finished the incantation, took an immediate shot. Acclimatised to violence, a fighter. Didn't fire until I was about to become a target of the Sectumsempra curse, so strong moral principle. We're looking for a man, probably with military experience and... nerves of steel...”

“Excuse me?” Penny turned her head to regard Dr Watson.

The man bashfully met her eye. “Erm, about the seminar-”

“Oh, Doctor, right,” Penny conjured up her chequebook and made out the cheque. “Or would you prefer gold?”

Dr Watson looked a bit gob-smacked, shying away from the Aurors hovering about. “Erm... I'll take the cheque, thank you.”

“What would you say to a regular course?” Penny proposed, already thinking of a syllabus proposal. “On Muggle medicine. Despite it being a school of magic we're really trying to branch out, you see-”

“Dr Watson's schedule shall be occupied for the foreseeable future, Professor Huxleigh,” Sherlock bloody Holmes intervened smoothly, almost physically manhandling Dr Watson away from her.

“... the nerve of that man,” she muttered.

“Good shot,” she heard a whisper from that quarter.

“Well... certainly.”

“So, a murder, another murder, and what looked like a wizard Duel,” Neville sighed as Holmes and Watson left. “People are going to talk about it for years. _Prophet_ 's going to have a field day.”

“Better if Leslie Armstrong came back as a ghost,” Penny muttered. “Then we'll probably see Sherlock Holmes play defence lawyer, make a fool out of the Ministry.”

“Oh, really?” Neville shook his head. “Never seen it, through seven years of magical education. When you can make Binns give up on arguing about the subject of goblin rebellions with thinly disguised remarks of racism, I guess Holmes is a bit... mad, yeah.”

Penny glanced towards the retreating figure of two men, the tall one with a proprietary hand around the small of the shorter man's back. “All good men are gay, or taken.”

“Erm...” Neville paused. “Problem?”

“Nothing,” Penny put on her best, fake smile. “Nothing at all. How's Hannah?”

**Author's Note:**

> Updated 21 Jan 2014.
> 
> Noted: The murder case is based on the Canon story 'The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter'.
> 
> On a completely unrelated note, HTML is a pain.


End file.
